


Stains

by karuvapatta



Series: tumblr prompt fills [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Artists, M/M, Painting, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sibling Incest, it's true, loki paints pictures of thor's dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 18:42:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6162955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor visits his brother's art studio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stains

The dusty attic room Loki had converted into an art studio had always been full of surprises. This one, however, shook Thor to his core.

He was staring at a picture of himself, lovingly rendered, down to the very last detail. Not the only portrait of him Loki had ever done - although admittedly, his adopted brother never seemed to get Thor's nose right. It was always a bit malformed, and there was a certain blankness to Thor's gaze, his unfocused eyes and confused smile making him look a bit simple. All in all, the portraits were never much good; which was bizarre, considering how precise and faithful Loki was with virtually every other subject.

But this one was different. Oh, it was. The likeness was perfect – from Thor's face, turned up towards the gathering storm, down every line of his body, including the soft cock hanging between his legs. He stood with a wide smile, fingers of his right hand brushing against a collarbone which bore the unmistakable mark of someone's lips.

There was nothing particularly incriminating about the picture, Thor thought. Many artists drew male models in the nude. It was frowned upon, but the human form had to be studied to be correctly put on paper (at least this was the excuse Loki used). However, the intimacy of it would no doubt raise a few eyebrows.

Perhaps it wasn't Loki's. The style differed from his usual work – which was elegant, detailed, and sombre, bordering on melancholic – leaning more towards impressionistic attempts at capturing the light and the atmosphere of the moment. And it oozed warmth and _joy_ , despite the dark clouds and first flashes of lightning in the sky. If it hadn't been here, Thor would never think of Loki as its author.

But he remembered too well. The day, the occasion. There was just the two of them, roaming the countryside. It was the height of summer, so they shed their clothes and cooled themselves in a sheltered forest lake, splashing around like immature schoolboys and not the young men they had grown into.

Well, Thor reflected. Should have grown into.

He remembered the hot summer air, heavy and fragrant. And the bee that landed on Loki's pale, freckled shoulder, and which they both observed in silence for a while before it took off, to land on a flower instead. He remembered the sheer, unguarded joy in Loki's face and laughter, as they traded boring everyday stories of their boring everyday lives. And Loki's long, lean body, his elegant fingers, for once not stained with paint. His pale green eyes as he looked up at Thor.

And other things, he remembered other things – the smell of fresh grass, the soft curls of Loki's dark hair at the nape of his neck. He had brushed them away then, began toying with the damp strands as he relayed his story. They lay side by side on the grass, hidden by shadows and shrubbery, and the endless blue sky above them; until the storm broke through, with a sudden shower of rain chasing them away to seek shelter, and the crack of lightning in the sky.

He had been happy. He could not remember ever being more at peace than in that moment.

He had prompted the kiss. The one on that summer day, and the first time they kissed as teenagers, and every time before and after that moment. There hadn't been many and he remembered each one, with perfect clarity. Loki had never been shy; he was sly and cunning, but would always reach for what he wanted in the end. But in this, he would wait for Thor to make the first move, as if unsure if his advances were welcome. As if he ever had any reasons to doubt it.

Thor touched the likeness of him, brought to life with such soft strokes and vivid colours. He regretted it deeply: not the action themselves, never that. Not their sinful nature, or the eternal damnation they had brought upon themselves; not half as much as the secrecy built around them. The lies, the guilt, the years of helpless longing, and the undercurrent of fear whenever he held Loki in his arms.

"I do not recall inviting you," a voice said behind him.

Thor turned.

Loki hadn't changed much since the last time they have met face to face. Not physically, anyway. But every time he saw him, Thor noticed new marks of resentment and bitterness in Loki's eyes, turning his features sharper.

"You never do," he said, a little wistfully.

Loki rolled his eyes and scoffed, as he did during their shared childhood whenever Thor did something to disappoint him. Which, admittedly, happened often.

"Cease with that sentimentality," Loki said. "You have your life, and I have mine. Granted, it is not as _important_ as yours. I am but a humble artist, I could never aspire to your levels of glory—"

Thor tuned out his words and focused instead on his low, melodious voice. It was as familiar to him as his own, whether spoken in anger or sarcasm, or rare moments of tenderness; and it curled around his core, sinking into his bones with easy familiarity.

He _knew_ Loki. In ways no man should know another; especially not one's brother. But it hardly changed the nature of their sin.

No matter how much venom Loki spat at him, Thor would bear it gladly. Once again, he looked at the picture, because it hurt less than looking at his once-brother, or once-lover, or both: how perfectly detailed it was, years after the event, perfectly capturing the storm, and the summer day, and the peace in Thor's heart.

His eyes were getting a little misty, blurring the lines together. But he smiled at his own thoughts, still wrapped in Loki's voice.

"Are you _crying_?" Loki asked.

It was Thor's turn to shrug. "Maybe," he spoke.

Loki stalked over to him, his moves quick and graceful. Without preamble, he seized Thor's chin in his long fingers and forced their eyes to meet.

"Thor," he said, exasperated. " _Really_?"

"Shut up, Loki," Thor said, with a fond smile. More tears spilled down his cheeks. "You do not get to accuse me of sentimentality after you painted this."

"This?" Loki darted a quick, derisive look at the picture. "This is garbage. Someone from your faithful crowd of admirers commissioned this from me. Had the money to afford my prices, but not the courage to speak to you directly. How pathetic."

Thor took the time to admire Loki's profile: sharp nose, high cheekbones, thin lips, bright eyes; everything he already knew, yes, but would never grow bored of.

"You think me pathetic," Thor said softly. His hand curled at the back of Loki's neck, and he delighted in the shiver that ran the length of Loki's body. "Because I buy your pictures but never talk to you?"

It was a poorly kept secret between them. Of course, Thor always took great pains to cover his tracks and place his orders anonymously. But Loki knew; as evident by the increasingly poor quality of his work and the obnoxiously high prices he placed upon it whenever he so much as suspected Thor's involvement. To this day, Thor didn't know why he continued to indulge in this childishness. Foolish sentimentality, maybe – Loki's fingers had touched the same canvas that now decorated Thor's bedroom (and attic, if they were spectacularly ugly). Thor took some comfort in touching them as well.

"Of course I do," Loki said. His smile, cruel at first, was losing its edge under the weight of Thor's gaze. "You are the most gullible of fools."

They had drifted closer; Thor could feel Loki's breath on his skin.

"I am," he said.

"And I loathe you," Loki kept on. "I never hated you more than on that day."

Thor gave it a moment of thought and then nodded. "Yes, I suppose you might have," he said, unable to hold back a laugh.

"And I hate it when you cry," Loki said, every word out of his mouth a little harsher. Thor laughed still, silently and a bit weakly, with a tight grip on the back of Loki's neck. It was true; tears were still running down his face.

His heart skipped a bit or two; Loki moved closer. His soft, warm lips touched Thor's damp cheek. He kissed away the streak of tear, and then the other one; his hands gripped Thor's shoulders, his body swayed into Thor's. Next Thor felt the hot prod of Loki's tongue at the corner of his mouth, and responded eagerly, if clumsy at first.

The world faded. He cared little for what was beyond Loki's lips, opening for Thor, swallowing down his moans and gasps. Vicious fingers pulled at his hair and dug into his neck, and a mouth attacked his. Loki had no inhibitions in grinding his body against Thor's, his cock already unmistakeably hard, as Thor's was; the air grew charged between them, and every sound they made echoed in the empty workshop.

"Shall we fuck, then?" Loki asked breathlessly, clinging onto Thor. "For old times' sake? _Brother_?"

"Would you like to?" Thor asked, grinning. He palmed Loki's ass, delighted to see his eyes widen at the shameless gesture.

No sincere answer would come out of Loki's lips, so he didn't care for it. But he kissed Loki's neck, sucking marks into the pale skin of it. Yet another unmistakeable proof of their depravity, and one that might get them killed. But Loki was his, in body and in mind; just as Thor belonged to this cruel, volatile creature.

They collapsed into a graceless heap on the lush carpet, and Loki straddled his hips, looking down at him with a quizzical expression.

"Pathetic," he decided, and bent to lick the remaining tears from Thor's face.


End file.
